


Meetings

by thasmins



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Sequel, Valentine's Day, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thasmins/pseuds/thasmins
Summary: Yaz meets a woman at a bar.





	Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO [LETTERS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674417), AKA THE FIRST THASMIN FIC EVER PUBLISHED ON AO3!!!!!
> 
> Now enjoy this surprise sequel I made for y’all on Valentine’s Day because I sacrificed time that should’ve been spent on working through my AP World homework (I’m just one useless procrastinator okay).

Yasmin Khan feels like slipping off.

She has alcohol to help her; if she pushes herself over the edge, she could forget for about 16 hours, give or take. The stronger the liquor is, the better her chances. She could unchain herself from the weight of her past and live freely for a fleeting moment. 

The first time was deflating. She didn’t have such a tolerance for the amount she would be drinking now, and she hadn’t even come close. Devoted to her heritage as a Muslim, she wasn’t like Sonya or her schoolmates – and she’d always get invited to one of those school parties, and she’d always politely decline. 

“Two bottles, please,” she calls to the bartender now.

The bartender obliges, but not without a concerned look on her face. Yaz tries to ignore as she flicks off the beer cap with a thumb.

She downs, downs, downs. Her liver should be crying at this point, and so should she be. She wasted all of that in screams, and it was only 10 at night. The murderer went down too early, too  _ fucking  _ early. She wants to pass out now, but all that’s happening is her knuckles whitening and an aching pain in her head and abdomen.

“Please, I’d like to have a gin and tonic.”

Yaz glances at a woman who’s just taken the seat next to her. Long dark hair graces the woman’s fox-like gaze. Yaz feels compelled towards her; it’s this tug that has her thinking something familiar. As if she’s met her before.

The woman takes her gin and tonic, says thanks to the bartender with a generous £50 tip, and Yaz has forgotten the other unopened bottle of beer waiting for her. “Hello,” she says, and suddenly, she thinks about every gold-digging wife she’s seen in movies.

“Hi,” the woman responds. It’s soft, nice, not expected from someone who seems so graceful.

_ And it’s only been 2 minutes that you’ve known of her existence, Yaz. _

“Sorry,” Yaz says out loud. “I mean – sorry, I talk to myself in my own head sometimes. I’m weird.”

“Not at all, dear.”

The woman is sipping her spirits. Yaz doesn’t bother with the unopened bottle. 

“I like your contacts,” she says, looking at the fake hazel irises.

I like your contacts? What?

“Thanks, no one’s ever pointed it out, but they could just be pretending not to notice.”

“I’ve had people say I’m too blunt.”

The woman looks at her sincerely. “Being blunt is a good thing sometimes.” She turns back to the half-emptied drink which she’s toying the ice with the straw. “Sometimes, being a child doesn’t mean a good thing.”

Yaz could only stare at her. She has no response, or maybe she doesn’t want to regret whatever comes out her mouth.

“Now I have to apologise, I don’t know where that came from,” the woman says.

“I’m drunk,” bluntly states Yaz. “I’ll forget about it in the morning, that’s what I’m saying.”

“I don’t think I’d want you to forget.”

Oh.

“Because I’d like it if we were to meet again someday.”

_ Ohh. _

“I could give you my number?” Yaz offers.

“Oh, right! Cellphones, they exist.” She takes out a napkin and a sharpie. “Forgot my phone at my place, but I’d bring a random sharpie?” 

She hands it to Yaz. 

“I’ve also seem to have forgotten my own phone number.”

Yaz smiles. “I’ll just have to depend on you texting me then.” She scribbles her number on the napkin a bit sloppily. “I don’t usually write stuff when I’m drunk.”

The woman reads the hand printed number. “Looks fine to me.” She pauses. “Oh, I never got your name, sweetie.”

_ Sweetie. _

“I’m Yasmin, Yaz to my friends, and you are…?”

“Idris,” says the woman. “I’m Idris.”

Yaz’s phone brightly lights up an Uber notification. Her ride will be coming soon, from the looks of it. She glances back at Idris. “Thanks, I don’t know what I would’ve been doing if you weren’t here,” she says.

“No problem, I guess I should be heading back to my place anyways. I’ve still got things to clean up.”

“I guess we can walk out together?”

There is a pause, and Yaz thinks  _ shit, I blew it. _

“Yeah, I’d like that,” responds Idris.

And like that, Yaz draws out a relieved sigh.

***

[14:31]  **Unknown Number:** Are you alright? Did you get home safely?

[14:31]  **Unknown Number:** This is Idris, by the way.

[14:33]  **Yaz:** Yes, I’m home! Have to be for a while.

[14:34]  **Idris:** At least take care of yourself, Yaz.

[14:34]  **Idris:** Is it alright if I call you Yaz? 

[14:34]  **Yaz:** That’s fine, Idris.

[14:35]  **Yaz:** Would you like to come over? 

[14:39]  **Idris:** That would be delightful, Yaz.

***

Idris comes over 2 hours later, and Yaz took advantage of that time cleaning out the clutter of her flat.

When she opens the front door, Idris looks like an Audrey Hepburn character that has stepped out her movie and has been wandering all over modern London aimlessly.

“Thanks for having me,” says Idris, “but it hasn’t been a day since we’ve initially met, do you trust that much already?”

Yaz hasn’t thought about it like that until now. Instead of answering, she avoids the question with a promise of tea.

“Green, but please don’t avoid my question.”

“I’m avoiding it now because I don’t trust you  _ that _ much, isn’t that how it goes?”

“Technically you kind of just answered it.”

Yaz stops cold. “Shit. Touché.”

Idris chuckles as Yaz hands over a mug with hot water and a green tea bag. She takes off her black leather gloves and dips the tea bag into the mug of hot water. “I guess if we’re meeting so soon, we should get to know each other better.”

To this, Yaz nods. It seems a bit surreal having her drunk self being mesmerised by this elegant woman and now having her drink rubbish green tea she bought from Tescos. “Where are you from, then? I hear some kind of American accent,” she starts.

“I was actually born in South Korea. I went to an international school and I had an American English teacher. She also taught me Japanese and Chinese.”

Yaz herself is also a multilingual person, but she couldn’t compete with Idris; she speaks French, but her accent is far from perfect, and she could barely speak Portuguese to save her life.

“I graduated high school when I was 14, and then I university. I also speak French fluently now.”

“Wow, so you’re really freaking smart!”

Idris chuckles. “Yeah. My schoolmates in high school used to joke around that I was actually an alien in disguise. I still bleed red and have one pumping heart though.”

In a sneaking moment, the feeling of that same tug from yesterday creeps back. Yaz can’t easily ignore this now; this tug is stronger and more persistent. 

And maybe in just one second, she hears someone cry.

She tilts her mug a bit too much and hot tea splashes on her jeans. 

“Yaz!” Idris cries as Yaz curses in pain. She grabs tissue napkins and dabs where the spill hits her jeans. “Are you alright?”

“I was more frightened that the mug would slip from my hand,” she replies quickly. She sets her mug on the coffee table. “I’ll go get changed.”

Idris averts her glance. She bites her lip, and nods. “I’ll have to be going soon, Yaz. Work and all.”

“Oh?” Yaz says. “Where do you work at?”

At this, Idris chuckles slightly. “I have multiple jobs. I’m a jazz singer for multiple bars around London, but I don’t have a schedule for that. My manager tells me when I should go. Tonight, I’ll be singing in The Piano Bar Soho.”

“...and your other jobs?”

“Will remain secret for now. I’m not about to spill my whole life story to you when I’m almost running late for my gig.”

Yaz nods. “Can I ask you one more question before you leave?”

“Shoot.”

“Why the pocket watch?” She points to the pocket watch Idris’s thumb was circling as she drank her tea. “I was a detective. Trained to pretty much notice the small details.”

Idris smiles. Her rouge lips curl upward, and that’s when Yaz notices that she’s wearing those same hazel contacts again. Her now gloved finger presses on her lips. “It’s a family heirloom. The only thing I know and have of my birth family. That’s all you need to know for now.”

She shoves the pocket watch back inside the pocket of her mustard yellow coat.

“I will be seeing you sometime, Yaz. Take care of yourself.”

***

Yaz and Idris meet at sporadic moments, and it’s never in the same place. Never in the same bar, never in the same café, and Idris hasn’t stepped foot inside Yaz’s flat ever since the day after they met.

Yaz wonders what this friendship is. It’s unlike anything she’s felt, not since a woman fell from the sky and kidnapped her into space.

Conclusion: so it is possible to stay grounded and feel the way like the Doctor made her feel.

***

Yaz runs into Idris playing a jazz gig not long after.

There, she takes a seat near the small stage. Idris takes the mic as the piano starts playing. 

_ Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time… _

A jazz rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now. Yaz isn’t baffled by the song choice; by now, she knows Idris is full of surprises. With such elegance, she could get away with being a wild child. In time, Yaz would realise that Idris herself is famous around London, but yet she refuses to make herself national. 

Idris loves the humble life of being a part-time jazz singer, loves the other two jobs that haven’t sprung up in conversations. She loves thrifting in charity shops that sell 50s era clothing, loves eating fresh chocolate eclairs from a French  _ pâtisserie  _ and drinking iced lattes in Starbucks right after. 

_ Oh, I’m burning through the sky, yeah! _

_ Two hundred degrees  _

_ That’s why they call me Mister Fahrenheit! _

Idris’s deep, soulful voice is exciting. Yaz is hypnotised by the elegant beauty whose flamboyant interior fits this song perfectly.

_ Yeah, I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars _

_ On a collision course _

_ I am a satellite, I'm out of control _

Even after months of meeting in random places, Idris is still a mystery to her. Idris talks, yes. She talks a lot. Yaz could listen Idris talk about herself all day long. 

And even then, Idris would still be someone she couldn’t figure out. In fact, Idris becomes more puzzling every time they meet. 

Idris talks about physics as if she’s gotten a college degree for it. She has a doctorate for Music Performance instead. 

Idris masters the violin and piano within a span of 5 years when she was younger. The bass guitar is her instrument of choice.

Idris has notebooks of original songs she has written in 10 minutes or less. She’s singing a jazz rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now for a cheap bar.

Idris has travelled through so many beautiful countries in so little time. She settles in a flat in London.

Idris has a family heirloom in the shape of a pocket watch. She never opens it; she doesn’t even search for her birth family.

Idris is more complicated than almost any other person in Yaz’s life. She is still just a humble woman with an eccentric personality.

It all reminds Yaz of the Doctor.

***

“Was I good?”

Idris was. Her voice was haunting, and it makes something inside Yaz knot painfully. It confuses her; not because she isn’t head over heels for the woman. It’s the tug again – it’s pulling at her and it’s bloody annoying. “Earth to Yaz. Hello?”

“Yes, you were! Sorry, I zoned out.”

Idris’s lips curl into a sweet smile. It wouldn’t be a surprise if so much as the entire city of London is obsessed with it. “You zone out a lot. Is it just me or do you do this everyone you talk to?”

Yaz flinches, to which Idris lets out a soft chuckle. The former detective frowns in response, averting Idris’s gaze. “I really apologise. You remind me of someone I know.”

“Will I ever know this person’s name?”

Yaz is willing to answer truth, but she is also pensive, and she doesn’t respond with the answer. “That’s a story for another day.”

“Cool.” Idris doesn’t pout. She also doesn’t smile. “I have my pocket watch, you have your lover.”

The perplexed woman raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think they were a lover of mine?”

“They’re in your mind a lot,” Idris responds, always with more of a ruminative response, “so much so that if they occupy that much of your thoughts, there’s bound to be such an epic story behind the both of you.”

It isn’t an epic story. Yaz has never thought of it like a tale, that is. Their  _ story _ is so much more worth than just that.

But she doesn’t respond with that. She’s allowed to have some mystery in her, after all.

“Maybe. I can tell you one other thing though.” 

She leans in so her mouth is in the vicinity of Idris’s ear. 

“They would’ve loved travelling with you.”

***

Yaz’s gaze falls on the nightstand where a box of blue envelopes are filed, all with the calligraphic inscription of her name in gold ink.

She holds one in her hand, letting her fingers travel where the ink is.

_ I wanted to be her lover,  _ she wanted to say.

***

Ryan returns from Japan with a new boyfriend and a whole wardrobe of clothes for Yaz. She properly scolds him for being  _ too generous _ but keeps the packed suitcase for practicality. 

(He bought so many flannels; it makes Yaz giddy inside but proceeds to punch him on the shoulder for playing her with lesbian stereotypes and all.)

“You’re welcome,” he quips, a smug look on his face that Yaz wants to smack off.

The boyfriend named Tim Shaw – Yaz is still reeling by this awful yet humorous coincidence – takes a seat on the armchair beside Ryan with two fresh mugs of black coffee, handing one to him. “Hey, your kettle is heavenly. Do you know where you got it?”

“Oh, actually, it was a gift from a friend.” Yaz doesn’t think of anything about it much.

But Ryan takes three sips of his black coffee and his frown line can be seen. “Yaz, I don’t know any friend of yours who could afford to make coffee taste  _ this _ good.”

“How exactly can you tell if the coffee is good? The kettle justs boil the water!”

“Nah, if I’m good at anything other than being a world class charmer, I’m a coffee connoisseur,” he jests, “so did Chief Leila get a jackpot or did you actually make another friend while I was gone?”

As if on cue, the door rattles open.

Idris is hefting shopping bags on both her arms as she uses their combined weight to shove herself through the door. Her black beret is just barely hanging over her forehead, her beige coat sleeves all rolled up to her elbows, but she wears a ridiculous smile that tells Yaz all she needs to know. 

She gasps when she sees the two men occupying the sofa and armchair. “Oh? I didn’t know you had guests!” Her smile turns into a guilty pout. “Yaz, you should’ve told me so I could’ve baked cookies for them!”

“That’s Idris,” Yaz introduces, stepping up to aid the overwhelmed woman. “She’s been my flatmate for about two months now, but we’ve been friends for 6 months longer.”

Idris’s smile returns again. 

“Nice, nice,” Ryan says. “I’m Ryan, and this is my new boyfriend, Tim. I’ve known Yaz since we were in primary school together and we’ve stuck to each other ever since then.”

He walks up and greet the woman by offering a hand. Idris takes his hand and gives a firm shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ryan Sinclair,” she says.

***

When Yaz and Idris have the flat to themselves, they’re cuddled up in a soft blanket watching another cheap, cheesy rom com that Idris had picked up at a charity shop.

Yaz rests her head underneath Idris’s chin, right at her shoulder and neck. Her legs are closed and brought up on the sofa so the blanket can reach them without hogging too much of its length from Idris. “Hey, Idris?”

Idris dips her head when Yaz looks up to her. “What is it?”

Yaz inhales. Exhales. She hears her pulse increasing with each moment that passes. “Ryan, you like him, right?”

“Of course,” Idris says automatically. “You and him – I like your friendship. You grew up having someone you could trust with your own life.”

At this, Yaz frowns. “Did you have friends at least, Idris?”

“I did. Many. But they all go away, like my family.”

Silence follows for the two of them as they refocus on the movie playing. It doesn’t last that long, however.

“Tim was like that until he found Ryan,” Yaz alludes. “Alone. He had many friends who left, but then Ryan came along and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Yaz isn’t sure what she’s doing, if she’s being honest with herself. 

“What are you suggesting, Yaz?” Idris inquires, tiptoeing around the inevitable question that will be asked.

_ Well, fuck it, I suppose. _ Yaz closes in the distance between them and kisses Idris. She pulls away as quickly as possible, shock written all over her face as if she isn’t the one to initiate the kiss.

Idris cups her cheek and lets her fingers brush soft skin, and she leans in to capture Yaz’s lips once more. This kiss lasts longer, passion more evident than before. Yaz’s fingers latch on Idris’s loose hoodie, the latter’s strength and weight combined overpowering her own enough so she falls on the sofa. 

Idris’s hands roam to her shirt and tugs at it. At this point, the rom com they were watching is practically white noise to them. Yaz shifts constantly to meet with Idris’s speedy mouth, hasty and chaste kisses that leave rouge lipstick smudged on her own face.

_ “What’s a kiss like?” _

_ “Excuse me, Doctor?” _

_ “No, I know what a kiss is. I know how it’s supposed to go, what’s supposed to happen. The basics.  I’ve just – I’ve forgotten how it feels like.” _

_ “There’s many types of kisses, Doctor. You’ll need to specify if I’m going to give you somewhat of a satisfying answer.” _

_ “Hm. What about – what about a kiss with someone you would lay your whole life for, someone who you love so much like – romantically?” _

_ “Doctor, you’re asking the wrong person then. I’ve never had that type of kiss in my life before.” _

_ *** _

“Yaz, are you okay?”

Yaz blinks. Once. Twice. Multiple times.

_ What – _

She’s kissing Idris. She  _ was  _ kissing Idris. Idris is now breathing heavily on top of her, red lipstick smeared to the edges of her lip, and she still looks heavenly. 

Yaz’s heartbeat is soaring high, something she hasn’t felt before outside of police work and travelling adventures with the Doctor. 

Idris frowns, cupping Yaz’s cheek lightly like before. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I think I may have overwhelmed you. I literally just pounced you!”

Yaz remains speechless to catch her breath. Her pulse isn’t slowing down, but she needs her breath to be.

“I’m so sorry, I got so excited,” Idris rambles on, “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you.”

Yaz, already recovering, sits up and looks at the woman whose excitement couldn’t be contained moments before. Idris averts her glance, embarrassment creeping in the form of rosy cheeks and biting her smeared lower lip. 

“You did nothing wrong, Idris,” says Yaz. “I just had a flashback, that’s all.”

“I thought I suffocated you.”

“It takes more than a snogging session to take the breath out of me. I’ve been undercover before, and the amount of running you have to do is nothing compared to this.”

Idris only sighs and covers her face with her palms. When Yaz goes over to caress a hand over the woman’s back, she flinches.

“Yaz, I have to tell you something.”

***

“I’ve been having dreams, very –  _ very  _ surreal dreams,” Idris starts.

Her hands are damp, eyeliner and mascara coalesced in smudges mixed with tears, and how they’re shaking is jarring and upsetting. Her patterned breathing isn’t much better; she stutters and it’s tangled with her crying.

“It’s – it felt so real. I would always wake up in puddles of sweat, my heartbeat pumping at speeds I never thought I would experience. The dreams always end the same way – you’d die.”

She dips her head, defeated. Yaz envelopes the woman in a tight hug, and the woman buries her head at her shoulder, letting out grim sobs.

The former detective runs her hand deep in the jazz singer’s dark hair. Affectionately, she kisses the woman’s scalp and holds her close to her own steady heartbeat. 

They stay in the couch for the rest of the night, snuggled up in each others’ arms until they softly sleep comfortably.

Idris doesn’t dream at all that night.

***

The transition from living alone to gaining a flatmate isn’t hard. Yaz has had to live with her family after all.

Living with a girlfriend is another thing.

There’s nothing much about the regular activities that change. Save for Idris’s signature of showing more affection to her, life is normal for the two of them. Yaz just feels a tug now – similar to the tug she felt for the first months she was around Idris, but this tug affects her more often.

She considers her former work as a detective to play a role in her own consciousness. After all, it’s ingrained in her that she would worry, but it’s all compartmentalised to prevent any mistake in her job. It’s all emotionally distressing.

She had a different experience with the Doctor, however. All the adrenaline she felt of excitement, doing more than she was doing back on Earth, it was so satisfying, so pleasing. It was why she’d left in the first place; it became too much fun, she’d forgotten the safety of others because of how exhilarated she was.

Now, leading a simple life as a ghostwriter and occasional photographer, Yaz could only worry so much as Idris goes out to her gigs. 

She pulls her phone out.

[21:34]  **Yaz:** are you okay?

[21:35]  **Idris:** this is the 10th day that you’ve texted me this exact thing

[21:35]  **Idris:** you know Ryan’s picking me up today

[21:35]  **Idris:** he’s here with Tim they can both vouch for me

[21:36]  **Yaz:** i just want to make sure you’re safe, okay? i know you’ll do fantastic, now go perform

[21:36]  **Idris:** okay~ <3

“See? There’s nothing to worry about,” Yaz scoffs at herself. “Idris is gonna perform for like 30 more minutes, and and in 15 minutes afterwards, Ryan and Tim will drop her off and we’ll maybe have amazing sex to make up for my annoying, overprotective arse!”

No worries. Idris will be home soon. Yaz just needs to learn how to breathe.

***

[22:01]  **Ryan:** TSURANGA

Yaz’s heart almost stops.

***

The alien is humanoid; he is of rigid, severely molten skin – if that were even skin – and his head burns a bright blue colour. It’s surprising that he hasn’t burned down the jazz bar yet.

Through all of it, however, Tim and Ryan are left to defend an injured Idris. Half of her leg’s skin is burned off, and it’s a horrific sight.

The alien has molten freaking lava oozing out of his mouth and absorbed by his own skin. Yaz has a baton made of unbelievably strong 67th century material that was gifted by a general in Resus One.

Fuck it.

“HEY! GET AWAY FROM THEM!”

The alien stops his tracks, turning around. His face is nightmarish, comparable to the Stenzan T’zim-Sha himself. Instead of human teeth, his head is a blob of blue lava floating off a structured molten body.

“You have no business with me, human,” the alien bellows. “All I’m here for is the Time Lord.”

_ Time Lord.  _ The Doctor.

But she couldn’t possibly be here, could she?

“For the last time! I don’t even know what a Time Lord is, let alone be one myself!”

Yaz’s eyes dart towards Idris. The woman is gasping in pain as her leg’s skin is slowly burning off. It doesn’t take long before she’s growling and screaming for help.

“You  _ lie,  _ Time Lord,” the alien states, his voice loud. “Lord President of Gallifrey specifically chose me for my ability to pick out Time Lords in hiding.”

Suddenly, a metal rod penetrates his chest, causing the alien to convulse of shock.

Tim speeds to Yaz, tossing her a key along the way. “Yaz, I’m so sorry but Ryan and I can’t explain anything right at this moment,” he informs quickly, “F’lonir is only going to be stunned for a few moments, and you’re the only one she trusts right now. Ryan and I are going to protect Idris at the best we can manage.”

“She? Who’s she?” Yaz asks, as if she isn’t shocked by Tim’s supernatural speed.

Before she could ask anymore questions, there’s a familiar wheezing sound that Yaz could pick out from anywhere.

“Fuck,” Yaz mutters as the bar disappears from her sight.

***

The TARDIS materialises around her, and it takes Yaz a few moments before she can even take a step on the spaceship floor.

There isn’t any time to comment on how contrasted this TARDIS looks compared to the interior of when she travelled in her. Yaz stomps to the controls and flips a few switches in hopes of doing what it’s supposed to do.

“Hello,” a voice says, and Yaz flips around.

“Doctor,” she begins, “I –”

“I’m just the TARDIS, Yaz, I’m so sorry,” ‘the Doctor’ says, “and so you’ve already seen that this isn’t the Doctor anymore. In her timeline, that is.”

Yaz nods. “She’s regenerated, hasn’t she?”

“There’s no time to discuss it. The Doctor is in danger,” the TARDIS states, “I’m going to have F’lonir board this ship soon.”

“What?! Why?!”

“He’s stolen me. From the Doctor.”

Yaz couldn’t believe what she’s hearing.

“The Doctor’s very good at keeping me alive, however. F’lonir’s interference into my mind isn’t strong enough, so I was able to buy myself and the Doctor some time.”

“Enough time? For what? Why did the Doctor turn herself human if she was going to be found anyways?”

“Yasmin Khan, you have the weapon needed to defeat F’lonir.”

Yaz looks down on her baton, more confused now.

“You’ll see what I mean,” the TARDIS says, “literally right now.”

The doors slam open, and F’lonir storms in.

***

“So you’re Yasmin Khan.”

Yaz stands still as the alien stalks his feet nearer and nearer to her. 

“When I researched more about the Doctor’s 13th face, you were mentioned a lot. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to know that a young human girl would be the favourite of all.”

“You don’t get to speak about the Doctor at all,” Yaz states. “She’s so much better than you’ll ever be.”

“I’ve never once stated that I’m worth much more than her,” the alien says. “Objectively, Time Lords are abundant in price, especially if the Lord President personally wants you to hand one in.”

“Fuck’s sake, I’m done with you!” Yaz blurts out. She pushes her baton in a slot of the control console.

The alien does nothing but scream.

“I remember a story about you, now, you know?” Yaz says. “A Resus One general who personally gifted me with this baton was involved with aiding a Time Lord during the Time War. They encountered you, so the Time Lord built a setting in his TARDIS which gets rid of folks like you in case of emergencies.”

“You’ve crossed with the Doctor before. And you made the same mistake by stepping foot in this TARDIS yet again. It didn’t take long for me to connect the dots once the TARDIS materialised around me.”

The alien’s body is violently being torn apart atom by atom. It’s a fleeting but horrific scene to watch, but Yaz keeps a stone cold face the entire time.

While the system causes intruders’ bodies to be forced apart in the atom level, their atoms would reform to their own selves at another space and time where it would be almost impossible to find the Doctor in a short amount of time.

As a price to pay, the TARDIS remain unstable until the Doctor could balance out their own heart. Without no Doctor, however, Yaz is left to die inside the TARDIS.

She supposes it is a good way to end her own journey.

***

_ Golden light flashes out of Idris’s pocket watch and surrounds her. Idris nods as Ryan and Tim are left to watch. _

_ “Funny thing is,” Idris says, “I haven’t said I loved Yaz yet.” _

_ And everything goes white. _

***

Yaz watches as the TARDIS dies.

In a way, she’s watching herself die too. There’s no point in working out a way to survive. The heart of the timeship is going to overflow everything and her, eventually killing her instantly. There’s no fighting. There’s no hope. Just time to make peace with herself.

Killing someone in atomic level is devastating in many ways. This is an extreme example of it.

Yaz guesses she knows she was going to die in a way that’s somehow involved with the Doctor, even after she left those TARDIS doors for the first time.

“We’re dying,” says a voice. It’s the TARDIS, and she’s wearing Idris’s form now.

Her hand creeps into Yaz’s, and it feels so damn real.

“I knew that from the moment F’lonir stepped in,” she says.

“You’re not afraid?”

Yaz shakes her head. “How could I be? The Doctor’s safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

The TARDIS giggles. “The Doctor is so lucky to have you, Yasmin Khan.”

“I’m so lucky to have her.”

They hold hands and wait as the inevitable will come for them both.

***

_ The Doctor pushes herself into the TARDIS, and chaos is ensuing.  _

_ She stomps through the sparks and destruction of the TARDIS, and finally, she gets to the console when she sees her. _

_ Yaz is sleeping peacefully beside the console as the TARDIS is violently shaking to her death.  _

_ “Fuck,” the Doctor mutters as she lifts the woman and swings one arm around her neck, “that won’t do.” _

_ Finally, the Doctor works her magic with her console, and everything stops.  _

_ Peace is restored. _

***

A letter from the Doctor to Yaz:

**_Dear Yaz,_ **

**_I couldn’t barely even look at myself, knowing what’s happened to you._ **

**_There’s so much going on right in my head right now that I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you for the time being. I need time. To process things. I wouldn’t want you to see me in the current state I’m in._ **

**_Idris – the human I was – is gone now. All that’s left of her is the memories she has that are now in me. Idris was a part of me in truth. She was me if I were permanently human._ **

**_You and her had something. Something passionate. Something exciting. Something beautiful._ **

**_Don’t doubt that any of it wasn’t real. Because it was. All of it. I feel it in every memory of hers._ **

**_She loved you so much. She wished she would’ve said it sooner._ **

**_I love you so much. I wish I said that sooner. I should’ve said it sooner._ **

**_I will be back, however. I’m not disappearing from your life anymore. That is, if you still want me back in your life._ **

**_It’s your choice ultimately._ **

**_See you around, Yasmin Khan._ **

***

Yasmin Khan feels like slipping off.

Alcohol doesn’t do much anymore. It reminds her too much of the woman she loved. The woman she  _ loves _ . 

She sits in a café, drinking chai latte as she’s on the verge of spilling all of it on her laptop. The lack of motivation has sent her in a frenzy of short-lived bursts of anger and sudden cravings of Jaffa cakes. Tagging along to Ryan and Tim’s adventures around the world didn’t help her motivation one bit.

Instead, she chugs the entire drink down and throws the cup in the garbage.

When she goes up to the barista to buy one more latte, an order for it is placed already on the counter.

“I haven’t paid for this,” Yaz says as she fumbles for her wallet.

“The woman at the farthest booth did,” the barista informs.

When Yaz looks at the direction the barista points out, she nods in understanding. “Thank you.”

She swipes the chai latte off the counter and heads for the booth. 

***

The Doctor wears the same outfit Idris did on the day she first stops by Yaz’s old flat. Yellow coat and black leather gloves.

Yaz takes a seat down, and the Time Lord looks up from playing with her gloves.

“Doctor.”

“Yaz.”

Exactly one year later, it still feels like fresh burns on her skin. Yaz had spent the first few months after Idris crying in the loss of her. Even finding out about the duality of Idris’s identity, her  _ death  _ is one of the most devastating events to ever occur in her life.

“I wasn’t able to say that I loved her,” she says out loud.

The Doctor nods, saying nothing.

“It’s just painful to look at you right now, Doctor,” Yaz continues. “You were Idris. Idris was you. She was – still, she was a different person than you. And so yes, she died. You killed her, Doctor.”

“Finding you was never in my mind when I did this, Yaz,” the Doctor reasons. “At some point in one of your futures, you gave your baton to UNIT, who stabilised it so Elijah was able to obtain it.”

“I understand, Doctor, really, you don’t need to say anything else,” Yaz insists. “Idris just – she meant so much to me.”

“I know that,” the Doctor says, “but that’s not why I’m here for.” She scribbles something down on a napkin. “You need to go here now.”

When Yaz reads what’s written down immediately, she shakes her head. “That’s the last place I want to be in right now.”

“I know that, but Yaz, this is very important to me, and I think you should go there.”

“I’ll think about it,” Yaz replies as she leaves the booth.

***

She goes to the bar.

Entering it is almost too hard. She hasn’t even been in this place for an entire year. She refuses to take a drink from this place after Idris’s death.

The bar is empty – save for someone having a pint on a booth.

Someone familiar.

Light blue coat, rainbow striped navy blue graphic tee, petrol trousers, yellow suspenders.

Blonde hair sways as the person’s head turns around, and she smiles. 

“Yaz,” she says. 

Standing up, she runs with incredible speed and takes the former detective in an ardent kiss. It feels like everything’s completed, the puzzle pieces all fit together, life has been solved for, and nothing else matters.

Time and space can’t compare to this kiss.

The Doctor pulls away from a dazed, overwhelmed Yaz. There is a bittersweet smile on her face. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful Yaz,” she says as she caresses her cheek. “I love you so much. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetie.”

***

Yaz leaves the bar with dried tears and a deflated heart.

The Doctor is waiting for her at the entrance of the bar. “I was right, wasn’t I?” she says. “Did you have a good time inside with someone?”

Yaz shakes her head. “Nothing will compare to this day now.”

“Stars, this is like Clara all over again,” the Doctor says. “Don’t you see, Yaz? That was me. She was me. She’s the Doctor as much as I am.”

“Oh, I know.”

“What?”

Yaz walks over to the Time Lord, takes her face, and closes in the distance with a searing kiss that seems to last for hours. “Nothing will compare to this day,” she says, after pulling away, “because I got to kiss to Doctors today.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Doctor.”


End file.
